It Wasn't Them
by StillWaters1
Summary: The Leviathans may have taken on Sam and Dean's faces, but in each town they hit, there was someone who remembered the real Winchester brothers.  And knew these murderers weren't them.  7x06 reflections, S1 character POVs.


Title: It Wasn't Them

Author: Still Waters

Fandom: Supernatural

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Just playing, with love and respect to those who brought these characters to life.

Summary: The Leviathans may have taken on Sam and Dean's faces, but in each town they hit, there was someone who remembered the real Winchester brothers. And knew these murderers weren't them. 7x06 reflections, S1 character POVs.

Notes: This piece is set during 7x06 (Slash Fiction). I've always loved outside POVs on major characters, and this episode provided a perfect opportunity for that kind of exploration. When Sam figures out that the Leviathans are hitting towns they had jobs in back in season 1, he pinpoints Ankeny, Iowa as the next on the list, where, as the episode winds to a close, Sam and Dean are arrested and supposedly "killed." I immediately thought of the people Sam and Dean had met and saved in each of those towns, in their corresponding season 1 episodes. From Jericho, CA to Ankeny, IA covers episodes 1x01 (Pilot) to 1x07 (Hook Man). Upon re-watching those episodes, I chose one episodic character that interacted with the Winchesters and placed them in the time of 7x06, watching the news and seeing footage of the Leviathan!Winchesters in their town. I could see those characters remembering their time with Sam and Dean, reflecting on the brothers, and knowing in their gut that the Sam and Dean killing people on the news were _not_ the real Winchesters. I hope I did them all justice. Dialogue quoted or paraphrased from the episodes does not belong to me. Thank you for reading and thank you to those reviewers I am unable to respond to personally via private message. I truly appreciate your support.

* * *

><p><span>Jericho, California<span>

It had been six years.

Six years since Troy's death. Since the disappearances out on Centennial had mysteriously stopped.

Since she had met "uncles" Dean and Sammy, from Modesto.

It had been six years, and she had only spent an hour with them, but when the TV began continuous coverage of the massacre at the First Bank of Jericho, Amy recognized their faces. She watched the security footage, an endless loop of Sam and Dean Winchester roughly throwing employees and patrons into the vault; Dean's little smile and wink as he purposefully looked up at the camera; the ready stance they adopted as they mowed down all those lives in a cacophony of screams, lead ricocheting off metal and thudding into flesh; their simultaneous "not bad" quirk of the lips as they surveyed their handiwork. But even in all that horror, there was no real emotion in those camera-seeking faces – no anger, no desperation, not even really any evil. Just a strange sense of accomplishment, like an order fulfilled, a task checked off a to-do list that they only cared about completing because they were told they had to.

They looked…..different. Of course, six years later, so did she, having outgrown the black makeup and dark clothing. But they just looked…..wrong. Both had filled out more, Sam especially, bulking into his long frame. Their hair was longer, voices deeper, faces more worn, movements more precise. But even though she never really_ knew_ them, it still felt _wrong_ – and several viewings later, she finally knew why.

It was the way they stood as they fired into the vault. Side by side, but not _together_. Not touching.

_Wrong_.

Because the Sam and Dean she had met were in near constant contact, the kind of people who had grown up sharing everything, who were always together because deep down, they_ needed_ to be. Diner booths were small, sure, but Dean sat right up against Sam, one arm stretched behind his brother, glancing regularly at Sam like he hadn't seen him in ages and needed to get his fill, to be able to breathe again. Actions Sam didn't shy away from as he spoke, his voice soft and gentle as he complimented her necklace – a move Amy knew was made to make her feel more comfortable in order to get information, but one she still appreciated because there was a genuine caring there as well. And when Sam told her about the pentagram's true purpose in that same gentle tone, it was with an underlying mix of pleasure at sharing the information and a serious, knowledgeable understanding older than his years. Dean had given him a look that was classic "my brother is such a geek" before slapping Sam's back and bringing his arms around to lean on the table as he moved the conversation along. But he had shifted his new position so his elbow and upper arm were in direct contact with Sam's.

When they replied to Rachel's comment with a "what do they talk about?" in complete unison, it was a move that didn't surprise either of them. It didn't surprise Amy either, because it was obviously how they functioned – two brothers, one person. They were so in tune with each other, so natural in their contact, their give and take…..it was the kind of connection she had honestly been hoping to find in Troy. And Amy knew Sam and Dean weren't Troy's uncles – she was a sheriff's daughter and wasn't stupid - but she had immediately felt comfortable with them, as if subconsciously knowing they could help. That they _wanted_ to help, even though they didn't know her, Troy, or any of the affected people in town.

The men on the TV were called Sam and Dean Winchester, but they were stiff, cold - partners maybe, but not family; together because they were _assigned_ to be, not because they _wanted_ to be. Not because being together was the only way they knew how to live. The Dean that winked at the security camera was _not_ the protective older brother who introduced his younger sibling as Sammy. And the Sam who mowed down those innocent people was _not_ the younger brother who allowed that introduction to a stranger. She knew people could change, that they could put on a front to hide a darker evil.

But not those two.

So, as Amy watched the news report that began a nationwide manhunt for Sam and Dean Winchester, mass murderers, she fingered her pentagram necklace. The one she still wore because, six years ago, a gentle-voiced Sammy had told her it was powerful protection against evil – the kind of evil that took Troy, the kind she felt in those changed, wrong faces on the TV.

She watched their faces, listened to their names and crimes, and didn't believe a word.

Because she knew it wasn't them.

* * *

><p><span>Black Water Ridge, Colorado<span>

It had been six years.

Six years since they had nearly lost Tommy to a legend they hadn't even known existed. Since what little family they had left was nearly torn apart, quite literally, in the woods of Black Water Ridge.

Since she had met Sam and Dean.

It had been six years, but when their names were all over the news, with a last name Hailey had never known, but found quite appropriate, she remembered them; recognized their faces through the years of change. And knew something was wrong. Because "Winchester" was fitting because those two _were_ weapons - weapons of knowledge and skill for saving innocent lives and families. What she saw on the news were weapons used strategically, coldly, to destroy as many lives as possible. To destroy their own.

And that wasn't them.

Because the Sam and Dean she had met lied to her about being Rangers, but only to try and find their father, to put their own little family back together, while helping Hailey do the same. She had no doubts that those two could have gotten through the woods on their own, but they came with her and Ben because they cared about her family, understood how she felt. Hailey felt it in Dean right away – the way he said "I think I know how you feel" when she informed them she had hired a guide to find Tommy herself. How Dean had told Roy "we just wanna help her find her brother"….something told her that Dean _got_ it. Got _exactly_ how she felt and had felt that way himself. So when she finally called them out on not being Rangers, when Dean told her that he and Sam were brothers looking for their father and that she and him were in the same boat, Hailey hadn't needed much convincing, because, deep down, part of her already knew. She had felt that connection, and so accepted Dean's words, and moved on. Dean had tried to cover his initial reason for lying behind a womanizing remark, but Hailey knew the truth – that Dean wasn't used to other people understanding how he felt about family. But Hailey did.

At the campfire that night, she watched Dean sit close to his obviously distressed little brother, then kneel in front of him, talking in low tones she couldn't hear, but reading, responding, and giving Sam everything he didn't even know he needed. Supporting him in the middle of darkness and chaos and danger, like it was as natural as breathing. As natural as telling Roy that the guide didn't know what he was up against. As natural as Hailey believing them even before she was strung up by a nightmarish legend come to life. Sam and Dean were so in tune with each other that they knew exactly how the other was going to risk his life for people neither of them knew - Dean offering himself as bait to distract the Wendigo as Sam led her, Ben, and Tommy to safety. Sam telling all three of them to get behind him when they were cornered, spreading his arms and bodily protecting Hailey's family as if they were his own, before even knowing that Dean was coming around the corner with the fire.

Or maybe he _did_ know.

These were two brothers even closer than Hailey was with hers. Ones who likely put aside their original plan to find their father in exchange for a way to save Hailey's family – three people they had just met. Because even through their own pain, loss and uncertainty, for that short time, Hailey's family became their priority because_ that_ was what mattered. Family.

And those men on the TV? The ones who came back to a town where they had selflessly saved lives only to take dozens more? The ones whose deep voices couldn't hide a deeper wrongness, a lack of the caring depth that Hailey had known? They weren't Sam and Dean. Six years ago, they had taught Hailey that monsters were real, that non-human creatures existed – maybe these things that looked like them were another legend no one but the Winchesters knew existed.

So Hailey tuned out the news and reached for the salad bowl, to feed the family she still _had_, thanks to the real Sam and Dean. She turned away from the TV, from the images of the Winchesters needlessly killing, the echoes of those wrong voices.

Because she knew it wasn't them.

* * *

><p><span>Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin<span>

It had been six years.

Six years since the lake took his dad, and the voices and visions sent his grandpa into the water. Since the bathtub had almost taken his mom.

Since he had met Dean and found the courage to talk again.

Lucas would never forget that time – seeing his dad drown, abandoned alone in the middle of the lake with only that endlessly repeating image for company; his mom's tears, worry, and pleas for him to talk. But he couldn't. It was too much and he was just a kid – he didn't understand it, didn't know how anyone could deal with something like that and come out on the other side.

Until he met Dean.

Because even through the paralyzing fear that stole his voice, Lucas had immediately known that Dean was different. And when Dean told him about his mom, how he did his best to be brave for her…..Lucas realized that Dean was _exactly_ what he thought was impossible – someone who had survived and come out the other side. Someone ready to help Lucas do the same. But the fear had been so strong for so long, that all Lucas could do was give him drawings until it bubbled over to tugging and crying on Dean's sleeve as his disused throat scraped out frantic sounds in place of words he still couldn't form. He remembered Sam and Dean bursting up the stairs when he let them in that night, Dean tossing him to Sam, who held him while Dean kicked down the bathroom door, then Dean taking over, holding him safe, trying to shield him from the possibility of another loss as Sam struggled, fought the water, and saved his mom's life. Remembered his mom telling him how Sam and Dean both dove into the lake to save him without a second thought. He recalled the smile when Dean heard him speak, the pride on Dean's face when he had repeated the all important "Zeppelin rules!", the solid feel of the high five, and his promise to look after his mom. To make his dad proud. To make _Dean_ proud.

So when Lucas saw the news about the bank massacre in town, he recognized Sam and Dean's faces. They were older, bigger, their voices lower, but it was six years ago and Lucas had changed too. He saw the men who were supposedly Sam and Dean kill all those people with cold smiles at the security camera – and knew it was wrong. Because the two Labrador Retrievers currently lying at his feet? The day they brought them home, both dogs had stepped in front of Lucas as one unit, hair raised, paws planted, completely focused on staying between Lucas and the stranger walking up the driveway. A move that decided their names as mom immediately pronounced them Sam and Dean, in honor of the strangers who had protected her and her son despite having just met them.

Lucas remembered the pain, sincerity, and caring in Dean's voice, how it had reached him in a dark place he thought he'd never escape. And the man winking at the camera after brutally killing strangers? He wasn't the man who saved Lucas and his mom, who helped a child find the strength to come out the other side. So, Lucas went back to doing his homework and turned up his iPod, letting Led Zeppelin's "Black Dog" drown out the news, the images of everything Sam and Dean weren't.

Because he knew it wasn't them.

* * *

><p><span>Kittanning, Pennsylvania<span>

It had been six years.

Six years since flight 2485 and Chuck's death. Since another flight was saved by two strangers performing a mid-air Latin exorcism.

Since Jerry Panowski had last seen Sam and Dean.

When the break room TV was tuned into the news that day and Jerry saw footage of two men who looked like Sam and Dean on a mass-murdering cross-country spree, he knew it was crap. It didn't matter how long it had been, how much those boys might have changed physically. The whole thing was wrong, because Jerry knew the Winchester family. Twice they had come to his aid, first John and Dean, who didn't even _know_ Jerry at that time, saving him and his family, then Sam and Dean, dropping everything and helping save hundreds of innocent lives. These were boys who came from a family that _redefined_ family. Jerry would never forget the pride that crept into John's voice when he talked about Sam, the awe that both boys couldn't help but radiate when talking about John. He remembered watching Sam and Dean listen to the cockpit recorder, process the discovery of sulphur, determine what was responsible and work out an impossible plan to stop it. And they _did_ stop it - saved hundreds of people in the present and countless hundreds in the future, from something most people would medicate them for even _suggesting_ was real. As Jerry had told them right before they left, nobody knew what they had done, but _he_ did. Because of them, Jerry knew there was a lot more out there than any of them could even fathom. He knew about poltergeists when most people only thought of the horror film. And now he knew about demons and demonic possession, and every night he thanked God for people like the Winchesters, who protected people like Jerry and his family from what they didn't know could hurt them.

So, when Jerry saw the news footage and heard their names, he rolled his eyes and ignored the report. Because if poltergeists and demons existed, who knew what those things wearing Sam and Dean's faces on screen could be? He could only hope the real Sam and Dean would get there soon and put a stop to it. Or if _was_ them and they _were_ possessed, that their dad was around to save _them_. Because the brothers who came to his aid, who cared about him and the lives of hundreds of others they had no connection with, were _not_ the exhibitionists blatantly killing innocents in front of security cameras.

Jerry closed his eyes, hoping for Sam and Dean's safety as they dealt with what he knew would be an upsetting realization, finding these….._things_… twisting their inherently good nature. Then he walked out of the room and away from the news.

Because he knew it wasn't them.

* * *

><p><span>Toledo, Ohio<span>

It had been six years.

Six years since the deaths and terrible secrets. Since learning that Bloody Mary was terrifyingly real.

Since she had met Sam and Dean and they had saved her life.

Charlie couldn't believe when they not only answered her initial phone call about Jill, but that they came right to her, gentle and understanding of her grief even as they sought answers. She remembered watching them work as a seamless team in Jill's bedroom, professionals working out a case, yet still joking around in a natural rhythm that immediately put her at ease. Remembered how, when she freaked out at school after seeing Mary, that it was those two brothers, two men she barely knew, that were the first call she made – the only ones she _thought_ to call because she knew they were the only ones who could help. Knew that they _would_ help because, for some reason, she trusted them implicitly. And she wasn't disappointed. They took her in, a trembling teenage girl hiding in her sweater, babbling nonsense about ghostly figures coming to kill her. They listened, assured her that it was real, and continued to reassure her when the fact that it _was_ real proved even more frightening. They darkened the room, covered the mirrors, and created a safe haven for her, keeping her protected and alive as they calmed her, listened to her fears, and helped her unburden herself of what Mary had seen. She wasn't sure what they did that night, but when they came back to the motel both their faces were bloody, Sam breathing raggedly, Dean watching him closely, keeping a constant, light contact. But they still focused on her and assured her it was over, before cleaning up and sharing the second bed so she could get some sleep. And in the morning, they waited until she was awake before uncovering the mirrors, driving her home, and telling her it was okay to forgive herself.

They did all this for her, for some random teenager they had just met. They could have just gotten their information and moved on, but they took care of her, protected her, even as they hunted the evil threatening her and so many others. They _cared_.

So when she looked at the TV and saw footage of older versions of the brothers she had known calmly slaughtering innocents, she knew it wasn't real. She knew there was evil out there, things she couldn't explain, and this, the gentle brothers that had saved her life six years ago smiling without humor at the camera before killing…..this she couldn't explain. It was wrong and evil and something she hoped Sam and Dean would stop. Because she didn't want anyone to ever think that what was on the TV was really them. She knew better, was living proof of who they _really_ were.

She listened to the story, watched the video footage, and didn't believe any of it.

Because she knew it wasn't them.

* * *

><p><span>St. Louis, Missouri<span>

It had been six years.

Six years since Emily's death and her own close call. Since Zach's conviction and subsequent release.

Since she last saw Sam.

Rebecca still couldn't believe that Sam had shown up at her door with his brother that day. She hadn't thought twice about emailing him to keep him informed, even though she knew he was trying to work through Jess's loss. She had always loved Sam. He was gentle, smart, funny, amazingly loyal to Jess, and genuinely cared about people. Yet there was something about him….. rare moments where she saw an underlying insecurity, an awkwardness….like someone who had grown up in a foreign country, around very different people – but it was only ever a split-second before he slipped back into the Sam she knew. It hadn't happened often, but when it did, it had always made her a little…..sad. It was those fractional moments that came to mind when she watched Sam look at Jess, as if having that closeness was almost making up for another closeness he missed. Something Rebecca never expected to understand.

Even after her initial hopefulness at Dean's connections dissolved into anger at the discovery of his and Sam's lies, she still ended up overwhelmingly grateful in the end; came to understand that it was just Sam and Dean doing what they did best – whatever was necessary, with the skills they had, to save people. She remembered Dean bursting into her house, gun steady even as he found an image of himself strangling his bloodied brother; the rage in his shout, that someone would dare hurt _anyone_ wearing his face, _especially_ Sam. Remembered the shots and rushing in to find Dean moving slowly toward his dead imposter while she rushed to Sam's side and cradled his bleeding face as he gasped for air, barely able to keep his head up.

And she would _never _forget the looks in their eyes that night, when she suddenly understood whose closeness Sam had missed.

She remembered how Dean struggled to compose himself as he squatted next to the skinwalker who had made others believe he would kill innocents, how he angrily took his necklace back, glancing at Sam, eyes warring between despair, rage, and worry even as his body remained eerily still and quiet. How Sam kept his eyes solely on Dean, even as he struggled to breathe, watching and supporting his brother, wordlessly telling Dean that it wasn't his fault, that the thing wearing his face was not Dean, hadn't done this to his brother….while simultaneously knowing that Dean would still feel guilty, because he would too. And she realized that the only reason Sam was still on the floor was because Dean needed a moment to process everything – but that if Dean showed any change, any need for his brother's words or touch, that, whether he was physically able to or not, Sam would drag himself up and to his brother's side; understood that the only reason Dean was letting her hold his brother was because Sam was still conscious and breathing…..and that the glances were to make sure Sam stayed that way. And Rebecca _knew_, felt a chill at the understanding that, had the shapeshifter succeeded in killing Sam, that she would be looking at a very different Dean Winchester right now. One more dangerous than any monster.

So when she saw the news about the massacre at Connor's Diner, her first thought was that they had another skinwalker in town. Two of them. Because the deep-voiced Sam shouting that he wanted the world to know what he and Dean were capable of? That was not the gentle-voiced young man who called her "Beck" to calm her as her world was turned upside down. The Dean asking if they had gotten everyone in the diner? That wasn't the man who stuck to Sam like glue the rest of that night, monitoring the congested breathing, and tearing up with gratitude when his brother looked at him and saw _Dean_, not the skinwalker who had nearly killed him. No, the Sam and Dean on the camera footage moved wrong – they weren't natural in each other's presence, didn't share looks or finish each other's thoughts. When the…._things_….on TV took the camera after shooting the last person and turned it on themselves, Sam glanced at Dean, but only to make sure he was in the frame too – there was no history in that look, in those eyes. It _had_ to be shapeshifters, or something similar. Because when she had told Sam that his life must be lonely once she learned what he did, Sam, the man who had nearly been killed by a monster doubling as his brother, had immediately countered with, "no, it's not so bad…..it's my family" ….and looked directly down the driveway to Dean, who had immediately raised his head, meeting Sam's eyes supportively, instinctively knowing what his brother needed. When the things on the TV looked at each other, it was because they _had_ to, logistically. There was no brotherhood, no caring, no Sam and Dean. Whatever kinds of monsters they were, they had done a poor job of learning what really made Sam and Dean tick.

So, hoping Sam and Dean were okay wherever they really were, Rebecca turned away from the news.

Because she knew it wasn't them.

* * *

><p><span>Ankeny, Iowa<span>

It had been six years.

Six years since Rich and Taylor's deaths and her father's attack. Since her own struggle with morality had bound her to a murdering legend.

Since she had met Sam and Dean.

Even in the midst of people dying around her and her father's betrayal of everything he had raised her in, Lori had immediately trusted Sam. Something about him just felt….right. There was a gentleness, a sadness….and an understanding. Something just under the surface that drew them together. She felt comfortable with his sudden presence, his sitting outside to watch over her house…..and was afraid his sweet concern would be the next victim of whatever had cursed her. But then she saw him transition from a shy, pained young man pulling away from a kiss as grief surged, to a warrior snapping up to his full height at her father's scream, grabbing a shotgun like it was an extension of his arm, and barreling into a danger that had nothing to do with him. She heard the shots, remembered getting up the stairs to find Sam with the shotgun up, standing guard over her father's body. Later, in the church, she remembered Sam pulling her away from the Hook Man, bodily protecting her from harm, throwing himself between her and danger, getting his arm slashed open and being thrown into a bookcase, only to run right back to protect her. She remembered Dean rushing down the hall, barking a practiced and urgent, "Sam, drop!", shotgun held with an ease as natural as Sam's had been, and Sam dropping in a perfectly ingrained response. When Dean rushed off to destroy her necklace, Sam continued to hold off the spirit, shooting and reloading the shotgun with one hand braced against his other, useless, bleeding arm in a disturbingly practiced motion. She remembered the initial terror barely hidden in Dean's eyes as he rushed back to them, followed by the wave of relief when he saw Sam was alive. She had told Sam, once he was treated by the ambulance crew, that she still didn't know what had happened, but that she knew he had saved her and her father's life. And Sam didn't explain further, but took the thanks with a quiet gratitude of his own around a deeper pain, that history that she had been so drawn to.

When the TV swarmed with reports of how the sheriff had arrested the Winchesters right in Ankeny after a multi-city massacre spree, she couldn't believe it. She hadn't been able to believe _any_ of it. Because the footage of Sam and Dean shooting all those people…..it was _wrong_. Those couldn't be Sam and Dean – not the gentle soul who had lost a loved one and the brother who watched his back. Not the brothers who came into town, saved her life - someone they didn't even _know_ - and left with nothing but new wounds and a reverend's daughter's thanks for something she still didn't understand. Not the Sam that gripped his wounded shoulder and said he'd be fine while Dean watched protectively through the Impala's rear view mirror. No, she couldn't explain this, but it wasn't them. It just _wasn't_.

When she saw the final news report that Sam and Dean had been gunned down at the precinct, she couldn't hide the tears. She went to the church, looked up at the cross through blurry eyes, and prayed to God that the shooting victims weren't Sam and Dean. That the real Sam and Dean had taken care of whatever was happening and that they were okay. That all the people who had seen the news would understand that the _real_ Sam and Dean were life _savers_, not life _takers_. Most of all, Lori prayed that it was all over and that Sam and Dean were safe.

God _had_ to know the truth, that the news was wrong.

Because she knew it wasn't them.


End file.
